Tales from Arda
by GwennielOfNargothrond
Summary: Tales from Arda is a collection of my stories from the B2MEM-challenge Back to Middle-Earth Month of 2012. Chapters will be their separate short-stories of different genre and with diferent characters and settings. Ratings may vary!
1. Maglor and Feanor, angst, T

**Note to readers!** I'll do like my friend did, and post all my B2MEM fics as chapters to one story. This will keep the number of stories on my page from doubling up within the following month.

I won't necessarily upload every story I write and some of my prompts will tell me to draw a picture or write a review. But the chapters in this fic will be their separate stories and can be read in any randomised order. We will see many characters, many situations, different lengths and genres. I'll try to include the characters and potential ratings in the chapter name. :)

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><p><em>Day 1, with the prompts "Maglor the Mighty", "Unconditional love", "freedom fighter" and the first line from Shakespeake's Macbeth: "When shall we meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?"<em>

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><p><strong>Grief<strong>

"When shall we meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?"

I stood by the rail of the ship, my fingers tracing a stream of blood that had dried onto the white wooden surface. Telerin blood.

All the days of my life before this day seemed to be slipping away, falling through my fingers, fleeing from me as darkness flees from light, as the dreams flee when you wake up. But this was not a dream. We had left Tirion and would never return. We had left my home.

"Not in the shine of the Trees, at least," I sighed to myself. "The Trees are gone." Maybe I would never see it again.

I felt someone approach me. I turned around. It was my father.

"Kanafinwë," he said calmly. It was the first time I had seen him this calm since the beginning of the Darkness. He joined me at the rail, and looked me, standing in silence as I avoided his eye-contact. "Are you still upset about these ships?"

"It is not the ships I am upset for," I replied quietly.

"No, it isn't."

I glanced at him. I wondered why he had sought me out. "I just can't help thinking..." I began, stumbling on my words as I tried to phrase my thoughts, "Can't help doubting... was this the best decision we could make?"

My father sighed. "My son, do you know what we are fighting for?"

"You said we fight for freedom," I replied.

"And do you believe me?"

I looked away and said nothing.

"I said we fight for freedom, but also for justice and for revenge. Do you believe in those?"

"I do believe in you, father. But how far are you willing to go for freedom?"

"I am now the leader. I have to guide my people."

Curufinwë Fëanáro. He would never doubt his deeds, never admit his faults. Was this "freedom" worth throwing away all advice, all counsel, all allegiances.

Avoiding answering my initial question he placed a hand on my shoulder, and forced me to face his stern look. I saw fire in his eyes. A fire that could devour his whole being if it was released. "You are not a leader, Kanafinwë," he said. "You are a musician – and the best in the world, if I may say so." I said nothing, so he went on. " But leadership is much like the life of a musician. It is about charisma and stirring emotions in people." I bowed my head, not being able to look at him any more. "Kanafinwë," I heard him say again. "You have cried."

I bit my lip, blinked a few times, trying to regain my composure. Fëanáro had not been meant to see my emotions. He would consider me weak, he would consider me not worthy. Maybe he'd even despise me. But at last I looked up.

"I have cried because I grieve," I stated, looked at my father stubbornly. And saw that he didn't despise me at all. Instead he pulled me into a hug.

"Do not grieve, my son," he said. "We'll fight our way out of this misery." I leaned into his embrace.

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><p>The last time I saw him was on a dry and dusty hillside far up in a foreign country. My brothers and I had carried him and laid him down there when he had bidden us to. I was afraid. I had never seen my father in this state. His eyes half closed, his chest slowly rising and falling, my mighty father looking so helpless, so vulnerable. I couldn't stand it.<p>

I wanted to say something, to do something, maybe even to sing something. But no one else made a move. My brothers stood all in a tall, solemn wall around our father, none of them making a sound, none of them moving, as if determined to stand there until our father would tell us to go or would leave us himself. But I couldn't bear it.

I fell to my knees and took my father's hand. His eyes opened a bit more, and his lips parted. But he didn't, or couldn't, say anything. But I would speak in his stead."

"I understand now," I whispered. "I understand now in what way we fight for freedom." I swallowed away the lump that was forming in my throat. "I knew that we fought to get revenge and justice. We wanted to avenge the theft of the Silmarilli, and we wanted to hunt down the one who killed grand-father." At this, Fëanáro nodded slowly. "And the freedom we fight for," I went on, "is your freedom. Freedom for those who are slain because they fight for justice. Not only for the justice for themselves, but for all peoples oppressed."

And my father smiled. "... My son," he said, his voice barely audible. "My strong voiced son. I knew you understood it."

And now the tears came to me.

"I cannot say I have approved of all that you have done, nor have I accepted all your choices," I admitted, speaking quickly, as if time would run out for me to tell this. "At times I have been ashamed of your deeds, and sometimes I have wished I hadn't followed you." I stopped. I cried because I grieved. "And yet, I have always come to realize I did the right thing in following you." I kissed his hand before raising myself up to stand on my knees. "No matter what you do, you will always be my father, and I will love you," I said.

Fëanáro's eyelids fluttered. Again I could see the fire of his fëa in his eyes. "And I you, Kanafinwë the Mighty," he said

"The Mighty," I repeated. He had never called me that. Mighty singer, yes, but that I was mighty as the simple me that I was.

I looked up and noticed now that my brothers had finally broken their wall. One by one they had knelt down to sit with me, near our father. As if we were children, I thought. As if we again were children that had been playing with their father for the whole day, and now had him tackled on the ground completely exhausted.

My father raised his arm. Slowly and steadily, he reached out to the sky and we all took solemnly him by the hand.

"Promise to keep on fighting, my sons," he said, now his voice a bit stronger. "Promise not to give up. Remember what keeps us going on."

None of us said a word.

"Now, leave me."

His voice was so stern that we saw that he really meant it. This was an order. We let go of his hand and he let it fall onto the ground.

Then we backed away, best as we could. It is everything but easy to leave your father to die on a hillside, still so close to the enemy. Fell birds would soon claim his corpse, would we not stay nearby to collect his hröa when his fëa had departed. Thus we didn't leave him completely alone. We still stood near, watching his star dim from afar-.

He lay unmoving. His chest rose no more. We almost thought he was already gone.

Then he opened his eyes.

He lit his own pyre.

His soul devoured his body.

Then he was gone.

And I cried because I grieved.


	2. Manwë and Varda, romance, K

_Day 2 of B2MEM:_

_Prompts used: "__Manwë/Varda"; "we"; Drabble including the words: "smith", "cradle", "consonance" and "mantle"._

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><p><strong>Children of Ainur<strong>

Unlike Elves and Men, Ainur have no concept called family. No newborns will live in their halls, no cradle rock by the chair. Oromë may be the son of Yavanna, but Aulë the smith isn't his father and Yavanna didn't give birth to him.

Manwë and Varda wished for a child. But as Eru hadn't given them one, they would never have one. However, one night as they stood beneath a mantle of clouds fleeting across a starfilled sky, they came to a consonance: they needed no children. They had both their creations, but, above all else, they had each other.


	3. Idril, angst, T

_Day 2: using the prompt "Coming of Age"-genre. Apparently, since it's a genre, it can't be just about the celebration of becoming an adult. It is more about personality change and becoming more mature. That's how I understood it at least._

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><p><strong>End of Childhood<strong>

Since the hasty departure from Valinor, Itarillë's life had changed quite a lot. Her family had left for a new world, been sent into exile, been on the run since that day when she saw her father and her uncles and their fathers stand upon the barricades, debating heatedly as for how to proceed. When they had left fair Tirion the faced another obstacle. Their passing was hindered, and it was all unclear as for who drew his sword the first, but the Noldor left the haven with victory and stained blades. And people said that Itarillë must be very brave for going through it all so stoically despite her young age.

But she wasn't afraid: she really had no reason to. Whenever she was worried, her father would take her hands into his own and tell her everything was all right. Whenever she couldn't sleep because of her thoughts running back to Alqualondë, her mother would kiss her forehead and sing her a lullaby. She was certainly old enough not to need lullabies, but she always felt comforted when her dear mother sang her a familiar tune.

On the journey north people still admired how valiant she was. Her uncle Findekáno would often ask how she felt today, auntie Irissë would chat with her, Ingoldo would offer his warmer cloak for her to borrow if she looked cold. But she would smile endearingly and tell them she was fine. After they were deprived of their ships, she was forced to walk longer distances than she had ever walked before. She saw her uncles less often as they and his father would usually walk in the lead with grandfather Nolofinwë and Irissë would walk sadly beside Findekáno, neither of them talking. So Itarillë went always with her mother. And still she wouldn't worry too much. She was admired for her optimism and her mother would hat her head as if she still was a child.

But the day Itarillë saw her mother lose her balance and cling onto a brick of ice, the day she saw her sink into the dark water... that was the day she was no longer a child. Her father would still take her hand, her uncle still sing her a song, and her aunt still strike her hair. But she would turn away. She was still young, but the child she had once been was no more.


	4. Maglor and Finrod, friendship, K

_Prompts: "Maglor and Finrod"; Four words in a drabble: order, course, cascade, dogwood_

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><p><strong>The Picnic<strong>

The two Elves had found the perfect place for their picnic. A small meadow surrounded by birches and dogwood with a beautiful view on the cascade. As Maglor was laying down a blanket to sit on, Finrod took his bag and started digging out what would be their first course; cheese and wine. He placed the cheese on a plates before starting to look for the glasses. He frowned. "I thought we had prepared for everything," he said.

"What now?" Maglor asked, looking up and facing his friend. "No glasses."

Maglor simply laughed. "Then let's just share from the bottle," he ordered.


	5. Aegnor & Andreth, romancefriendship, K

_Prompts used: Aegnor/Andreth; "they loved the woods and the riversides". And aire suggested I'd write it fluffy. :)_

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><p><strong>**By the stream **<strong>

I stood in the water after our small hunting trip in the early morning. It felt icy cold against my bare feet, and Angamaitë asked me whether I was mad, for surely we could bathe our toes in some warmer water. I replied to him that it had been too long a time since I had set my feet in an open stream or any other body of water. He laughed. "I shall return in an hour to see whether you are still standing in here," he said before leaving. "I doubt you will bear the cold for that long." I told him I accepted the challenge and would be waiting in the water. He rolled his eyes and muttered something about his brother being childish. But I didn't mind. In these days I doubted I would still have that a long life ahead of me, so I could as well enjoy myself once in awhile.

As I stood there alone looking at the clouds in the sky, I heard someone approach. I turned to look into the direction of the sound and I saw her. Adaneth. She was carrying a basket on her arm, her hair was tucked behind her ears and hang on her back in a loose ribbon and on her face was a most surprised expression.

"Prince Aegnor, what are you doing," she called out.

"I am merely admiring the view on the stream and across the plains, lady Andreth," I said.

"Surely they are beautiful, but won't even the feet of Elves freeze from standing too long in icy water? It is hardly spring, my lord," she said. "Although your kin won't catch a cold, I wouldn't recommend it to you."

"It is a game between my brother and I," I said. She smiled, but if she thought we were foolish, she didn't show it in any way.

She came to stand by the stream, her grey eyes glancing at my shoes laid down to wait on the stone, before looking up to gaze into the same direction I had been looking into before she came. The plain was still covered with snow in some spots, but mostly it had already melted away in the bright sun that crept higher day by day as the summer approached. The pine trees had kept their needles, but the willows were would soon get their first buds.

"I like this river," Andreth said thoughtfully. "I like how it rolls far beyond the hills, and how, if you follow it, out leads to new woodlands. It is a pity it usually is so small unless it has been raining or the show is melting, such as now."

"I like this river because it is the closest body of water near to my home," I replied. "In Valinor I used to visit the seaside often, and we all would take walks on the beach. That is how I came to like water." I smiled at Andreth. She smiled back at me timidly. I half regretted for talking so much about such trivial things, but I wanted her to see that she could talk freely with me, not be shy only because we were of different kin, or because she thought I was far above her in rank. I honestly did not want her to feel that way, because we had already known each other for some time. Because I saw her as my equal.

"You are not in a hurry?" I asked.

She misunderstood my question and blushed. "I am sorry, my lord," she said, bowing her head, and turning away. "I'll be on my way."

"No don't!" I said quickly and reached out my hand. She turned to face me in surprise. "I mean, I would be honoured to enjoy your company, would you stay with me," I said.

She looked suspiciously at me, trying to guess whether I was jesting or whether I truly meant what I said. But when I still held out my hand towards her, she curtsied and took my hand. Smiling, she replied: "The honour would be altogether mine, Prince Aegnor."

"Can I make a request?" I asked her. She nodded solemnly. "Would you call me by my name?"

She raised her eyebrows on surprise and was momentarily silent. "I would be glad to," she said at last. I smiled. "Then perhaps I may call you by your name?" "Certainly, Aegnor," she smiled. "Aegnor," she said contemplative, as if tasting the new word on her lips. I decided that I liked the way she said my name.

The noon passed without us hardly noticing. We sat together on the stone, talking. I told her some stories of my own kin and she listened to them intently. I asked how her family fared and realized how much there still was for me to know about the Edain.

I had at some point taken my feet up from the water without even noticing, and wherever Andreth had been heading before we met, could wait. It was lovely. After some time we simply sat together, with me singing softly some Quenyan song and her absentmindedly plaiting together long grasses, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I should return home now," she said at last. "Of course. I mustn't keep your family waiting," I said. How I wished she could stay a while longer, I thought regretfully, but said nothing.

"And wasn't your brother supposed to return within an hour? Surely it is past noon already."

"You are right," I laughed. "He must have forgotten about me." I stood up. "But I am glad I had the opportunity to talk with you a bit longer."

She took her basket and stood up as well. She looked away and seemingly hesitated a bit before saying: "We could meet some other day." She looked back and smiled when I nodded. "Unless you have other errands to tend to."

"I will always have some time to spare," I said, bowing.

"You never came after me," I said when I met my brother. He was tending to his horse in the stables when I found him. "Did you forget your own brother? For all you know I could still be waiting for you. "

Angamaitë smiled. "I was on my way, Aikanáro, but I saw you had some company. We enjoy ourselves with friends all too seldom these days, so I did not wish to come to disturb you." I didn't reply anything. There was something knowing in my brother's eyes.

"Thank you," I replied quietly at last.

"But by the time I came to look for you your feet were no longer in the water," he said with a little laugh. I scoffed.


	6. Ecthelion and Glorfindel, parody, K

_Prompts: Glorfindel and Ecthelion; time traveling; first line: "One mid-winter day off the coast of _ the crew spotted a bottle with a note in it." -Junger, The Perfect Storm_.

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><p><strong>The note<strong>

One mid-winter day off the coast of Vinyamar the crew spotted a bottle with a note in it.

Catching it up with a net, they got it onboard soon enough. Using a tool to cut away the seal, they soon found the letter inside. _"Give this to a Noldorin prince",_ it said on the envelope, curiously enough, written in Quenyan tengwar. This meant that whoever who wrote this was one of the Calaquendi, but it didn't explain why a Calaquendi would use a bottle as a means of communication with the Noldorin royal. However, the crew took the bottle with them as they exited the fisher boat. On the dock they were met by two Elves from the royal guard whom they handed the bottle and the letter to.

"So, what do you think the letter is about?" the golden haired Elf asked his friend as they were walking up the streets of the city on their way to King Turgon's palace.

"None of our business, actually," the darker of the two replied, "that is why we are on our way to give it to Turgon." Before the golden haired elf had time to reply in annoyance, the other smiled and went on: "But I think it might be from the Valar."

"The Valar, Ecthelion? What an incredulous idea. Explain your trail of thought, dear."

"If the bottle was sent by the ocean, then surely it must have come from Aman and carried over by Uinen," came the reply. "No Elves here would risk their important message to be lost at sea, Glorfindel."

That was admirably good reasoning, Glorfindel admitted, but surely the Valar would have other means than a regular letter. "I think the letter was sent by some of the Sindar down South," he proclaimed. "They cannot contact us because of King Thingol's decree. And after all, they are will known sailors and shipwrights. They might communicate using the sea and a bottle, and it would be no surprise if some of them had learnt Quenya."

Ecthelion snorted at the idea. The two Elves went on discussing the letter, its sender, its content. Once they came to the palace Ecthelion stopped and turned to face Glorfindel. "How about a bet," he said. "If you are right about the letter, I'll give you something you want, and if I am, then you'll give something to me."

"And what would you want me to give to you?" Glorfindel smirked at which Ecthelion furrowed his brows. "Fine, I will accept your challenge," Glorfindel laughed. Prepare to lose."

In fact, Glorfindel was not so sure about this. He seldom turned down friendly challenges, but had he known he was in for a bet, he would have payed more attention to what theories concerning the letter he spat out. However, he followed Ecthelion as they went to see the King.

Turgon was for some reason filled with apprehension as soon as he heard of the strange letter. When Ecthelion explained the story and handed over the envelope, Turgon opened it with caution. Inside it was a note written on plain paper, as Turgon read the letter his face grew pale and Glorfindel and Ecthelion shared a worried glance.

"Is this a cruel joke?" Turgon asked and stood up, his expression partly concerned, partly angry, mostly disbelieving. He read the letter one more time before he fell and toppled on his desk, apparently unconscious. Glorfindel and Ecthelion shared an even more worried glance before going to the deskand helping their King back into his chair. As Glorfindel went to get some stronger drink for His Majesty, Ecthelion took the letter to see what out was that had shocked the King so much. His eyes widened as he read the text.

_Dear reader,_ the letter said,

_I am Maglor. Though, not the Maglor you know, but one from the future, our rather from another timeline. It may seem like a lie, but I assure you, it is true._  
><em>When I was in the same time within my timeline, I didn't die, but was left to live on... I guess you could say for an eternity. By now of my life, they (the Edain) have invented time travelling. That permitted me to travel to the past or the future of a different timeline. However, to avoid creating even more confusion I am creating now, I didn't stay, but went back to my reality. But I still wanted to share my wisdom of hindsight. Enclosed is an account of what will happen if you do not do things otherwise this time, followed by my personal suggestions on how to proceed. Tips include:<em>

_ - how Finrod's death and the ruin of his realm could be avoided_  
><em> - how the course of the Nirnaeth can be altered <em>  
><em> - how to save Aegnor's love life<em>  
><em> - how to NOT get back the Silmarils (and why you don't want them back in the first place) <em>  
><em> - how to avoid Sauron's return<em>

_I hope you will find this useful someday!_

_Love,_

_Maglor_

Clearly, it was Maglor's handwriting signed by his distinguishable signature that was to be found in all the songs he had written.

Ecthelion shook his head. There was no winner for this bet.


	7. Curufin and Nerdanel, family, K

_Prompts: seabirds, Curufin and Nerdanel, delight_

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><p><strong>The seaside<strong>

Curufinwë Atarinkë hadn't seen the Sea before. He clapped his hands delighted, as he observed everything around him.

"How come there are so many pebbles?" he wondered out loud. He was in the age when everything had to be questioned.

"Because the Sea has polished big rocks smooth," Maitimo explained.

"So the Sea is a bit like Atar, then?" Curufinwë asked, clearly impressed. "What jewel is that?" he asked.

"It's not a jewel, it's a sea-shell," Macalaurë pointed out kindly.

"Oh," the little child said, sounding a bit disappointed. "I bet Atar could make them much prettier." Fëanáro smiled in the background, proud of his son.

"Hey, let's go to the water already!" Carnistir shouted. He set our running towards the sea and the waves.

The family was finally on their long awaited for trip to the seaside. Usually when somebody suggested that they should visit the shore beyond the mountain, Fëanáro would say they had other plans or that he didn't want to run into the Teleri, and then they would end up visiting Aulë or going to Formenos. This time they had at last come to the beach (not far from Tirion - actually, one could still see the light of the trees in the distance), after persuasion from both the children and Nerdanel.

The older brothers set out after Carnistir as they raced to the shore, Huan faithfully following Tyelkormo. Fëanáro walked behind them, just to make sure everything would be alright. Certainly both Maitimo and Macalaure were old enough to take care of the situation should anything happen (you never knew with Carnistir), but Fëanáro still decided it would only be for the best if he kept an eye on them himself.

As little Curufinwë tried to follow them with his small feet, Nerdanel lifted him gently into his arms. "You can go later, dear," she said, "when the waves are not as high."

Curufinwë pouted. "I can handle the waves," he said. "I'll just tell Ossë I want them to be lower."

His mother laughed. "Wouldn't you rather sit with me?" she asked her son. "We could build in the sand, or look for treasures in the sand, or look at birds..."

Curufinwë had a thoughtful expression. "You tell about the birds," he said.

"Certainly I will," she said.

They say together on the beach, and Nerdanel began pointing out various birds. Curufinwë sat by her side, listening silently, occasionally asking questions about what a certain type of bird ate or where they lived and Nerdanel told him all that she knew.

The others came back from splashing in the waves. The children began telling what they had done. Maglor showed his mother another, bigger, seashell whereas Tyelkormo explained how he had been the only one not to fall over when an exceptionally big wave had crashed in. Fëanáro merely rolled his eyes and laughed at the enthusiasm and the delight of the children. Nerdanel listened patiently until all her sons had got their say.

Curufinwë listened to the others as well, but when they were finished he grabbed his mother's hand and said: "I know now more about seabirds than any of you do!"

"Now Atarinkë, I am sure you do," Nerdanel said and kissed his forehead. Curufinwë glanced at his brothers somewhat smugly. Because how many times had they had a private lesson on marine biology with amil?


	8. Amrod, angst, K or T

_Prompts: Evils servants of Celegorm; Last line: "I think that he is singing."_

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><p><strong>Doriath aftermath<strong>

One thing was certain. We had lost more than we had gained. It had been useless to come to Doriath, now that the Silmaril had once again slipped past our grasp.

"We have to find the children," Maitimo spoke up at last. That too. That too was only because we had come to Doriath.

"The children, the children! Why care so much of some half-breed off-springs, when all they would ever do to you is to continue to hide your Silmarilli, my lord?" It was one of Tyelkormo's servants. He looked tired and annoyed. "Let them grow up and they will be just like their father."

Maitimo turned to look at them angrily. "You disgust me," he said. "We will not kill them. So far they are innocent. We have to find out whether they are still in the castle."

"My lord, do not go after them. They are no longer in the castle."

"How do you know?" I asked suspiciously. "Have you searched for them?"

"We have," my brother's servant replied. "And we found the sons."

Maitimo's eyes widened. "You did?"

"And just as their father deserved to die, so did they. They would not follow us, would not obey us, would not tell where their sister our where the Silmarilli were."

"And where are they now."

"We don't know, but we left them deep into the forest."

"How could you leave children to die?" Maedhros shouted. "How would they even know where the Silmarilli are?"

"How would they not, my lord," another soldier spat out. "They lived here."

The first one nodded. "All we did was avenging our master and his brothers. You brothers."

Maedhros breathed deeply, looking absolutely furious. "Were you mine to command, I would banish you, but you have sworn me no allegiance," he said in a venomous tone. "I hope you have the sense to leave by yourselves. Meanwhile, I will go to find the children."

The soldiers glanced at each other. Then they left. Maedhros stood fuming for a while. "Will you come with me, Macalaurë?" he asked at last.

"No," came the reply. Macalaurë was sitting by the corpses that had been lined up next to the wall. "I am sorry," he said, his head in his hands.

"Ambarussa?" Maitimo turned to us.

"I won't come either," Telufinwë said quietly.

"Maitimo, I don't even think we can rescue them any more," I said.

"I will do my duty, Pityo," he replied sternly, but I could see a desperation in his eyes.

He left us. There was nothing we could do to change his mind.

I looked around me. Telufinwë had sat down and was now tending to the bleeding gash in his temple. I asked whether he would be all right and he nodded with a small, faint smile. Up beside the wall, separate from the others were three of my kin. I walked over to them, and had to press my eyes shut to keep the tears from coming. Tyelkormo, had you known what your servants would do? Curufinwë, what will you say to our father when you meet him? Carnistir, I saw your last moments alive. I wonder how painful they were...

I turn away. I walk away from the room, I cast away my sword and hear it cling into the floor. I cry.  
>Somewhere, sounding like from another world, I can hear Macalaurë's lament. I think that he is singing.<p> 


	9. Maedhros, angst, K or T?

_Prompts: "Maedhros looking for Eluréd and Elurin"; "apprehension"; "We won't go until we get some!"_

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><p><strong>Finding the Lost<strong>

Maedhros' task seemed impossible. The dark shadows of the first at night could hide anything. There were no footsteps in the snow, no broken branches in the bushes, nothing that could shed light on the two boys' whereabouts. However, the Noldo was determined to find the children. Maedhros had promised he would not return before he had found them, or at least knew their fate. Not before he could tell his brothers what exactly had become of little Eluréd and Elurin. But he started to get worried. Or rather, he had been worried all along, and now he started to admit his apprehension to himself. The two small children were lost. The desperate search reminding him of when he had been looking for his soldiers on the battlefield. He had had no luck back then, either.

In the morning his brothers found him sitting on a stone in the forest. His shoulders covered with snow, his hung his head. "I must find them, or else I will fail them," he muttered weakly.

"Maedhros, come," Amrod said quietly. "It is too late."

"You don't understand," his eldest brother replied. "They might still be alive."

Amras got down from his horse and approached Maedhros. "No," he said quietly, as he brushed away the snow from Maedhros' shoulders. "They probably aren't. And even if they were, we couldn't help them. They consider us enemies." He offered his brother a hand so that he would raise up, but it was ignored.

"Is there really something more important to tend to," Maedhros asked, his voice hoarse. His brothers looked at each other in silence.

"Would you join us in burying our siblings?" Maglor asked quietly.

Maedhros opened his eyes. It took some moments for him to register Maglor's words, but when he did, he stood up. "Certainly," he said. Wiping his write with a sleeve, he turned towards the others. There had been losses on both sides and all that was left to do was to let go of the departed.


	10. Valacar and Vidumavi, romance, K

_Prompt: Valacar/Vidumavi. ;)_

* * *

><p> <strong>The haughty prince of Gondor. <strong>

What would he seek in me? I wonder. Men of Gondor area haughty and seldom befriend people such as me. I am much younger than he is and hardly a woman to count on in politics no matter how wise some seem to think I am. But there he stands, looking at me, though all else in the halls are dancing and merrymaking. At last I walk up to him myself.

"Good evening," I say. "Although you are not dancing, I hope you enjoy the festivities that my father has organised for tonight."

"I enjoy them very much," he replies, "But I do not know these songs and how to dance to them. They are all too quick for me, although I do enjoy listening to them since they are so different from the songs in my own country."  
>I nod shortly. I am pleased to hear that at least he does not look down on our traditions. No diplomat, such as he is, should, but many still do.<p>

"You are Vidumavi daughter of Vidugavia?" he asks, although he undoubtedly already knows it to be true, as long as he has already ben living here.

"Yes, and you are Valacar, a prince from the South."

He nods. "That I am. But say, as you are from these lands, you could teach me how to dance to these songs. Would you do that?"

Surprised, I have to think four a moment. "I am hardly the best teacher to be found here tonight, but I shall try," I reply at last and offer him my hand, which he takes gently into his own as a gentleman should. "I am happy to see that you are open towards new customs," I say, now starting to enjoy the idea of getting to dance with someone else as well.

"Of course," he says. "And to be taught by a local princess makes it worth it." I hold back a laugh. Truly, he is not as boring as I had always feared he would be.


	11. Eärwen and Aegnor, angst, T

_Prompts:__ Aegnor/Andreth; "A mother's love"_

* * *

><p><strong>My Lost Son<strong>

He still had not returned. All my other children had already been released from the Halls of Mandos, but my poor Fell Fire was still lost in the darkness.

"He is clean from his deeds. He has had permission to leave any time he want for a long time already," Lady Nienna explains to me. "And yet he refuses, no matter how long I talk to him. Maybe you, Eärwen can change his mind."

Maybe I will. I stand in the cool emptiness of the halls, calling for my son. I receive no reply. But at last, from the darkness emerges a wave of heat. The fire rushes towards me, and only inches away from my feet it rolls up to take a glowing red figure of my son, of my own Fell Fire.

"Mother," he says quietly as he recognises me, "you do not belong to these halls of souls."

"Neither do you, Aikanáro," I reply. "Lady Nienna told me you could leave any time you want. All your siblings are in Valinor, so why aren't you?"

He looks at me sadly. "I do not wish for life on Earth," he sighs at last. "If I could, I would escape from Arda."

"How can you say so?" I gasped, but he merely turned away. It saddened me to hear that he was so tired of this world that he would rather pass into the unknown than stay with his kin. "Aikanáro," I called and he stopped to listen. "What would you gain by leaving Arda? Is not Valinor the place where all should be happy and have their hearts' wishes fulfilled?"

At those words he dissolves again and becomes a trail of fire as if emitted from a glare as his fëa swirls around me.

"Maybe for you, mother, but not for Andreth, and thus neither for me." With that he disappears back into the shadows, leaving me standing in the darkness again. I call for him, but he won't return.

He may have regretted his deeds during his exile, Artafindë explains to me later, but the Fell Fire is also regretting his choice to leave the one and only he ever loved. And unless he understands that Andreth would not wish for him to remain unhappy, he will never find joy in Arda. And I will never get back my Fell Fire that is now dimmed by sorrow.


	12. Maglor, general friendship, K

_Prompts: Maglor in Fourth Age, Seaside Market, "He believed that he must now say farewell to both love and light."_

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><p><strong>The Singer by the Market Square<strong>

He hadn't seen much people since he chose his life of loneliness and regret. But lately he had found himself each day drawing closer to civilisation. And he argued with himself of that had he decided to forsake everything, both light and love. That he would never even sail to Valinor, no matter what. Thus he should back away from the little fishermen's' village located near his whereabouts. And yet he now sitting on a bench of stone, on the edge of the market square, his harp by his side, looking out over the people busy with their clamouring and shopping.

It was an exceptionally busy day in the square. The fish had been plentiful and salesmen were competing of the villagers' attention. Cod, salmon, herring and eel, the whole square stank of fish.

Maglor decided that he would watch the people from far. They were busy and they were of humankind; they would hardly notice a lonely Elf standing in the corner of a market square, not once as battered as he was, rugged pale clothes, windswept hair, hollow face with gaunt features... an Elf almost faded away already. The people seemed all to look past him or even through him, occupied by chores and gossip. Maglor was almost sure that he had already faded away from his body without knowing it himself, until a small voice from somewhere little next to him piped up and gave him the first comment in millennia.

"Your harp is pretty," a little girl said. Maglor looked down at her surprised. The girl was, supposing that she was of a race with a common mortal lifespan, maybe five years old, dark haired with dark complexion, and she was holding a small paper bag in her hand from which she was currently popping small pieces of dried fish into her mouth which apparently lacked one front tooth. Maglor nodded in reply, having in his confusion momentarily forgot how to answer properly as he hadn't spoken to people for a long, long time.

"Can you play it?" the girl asked, sitting down on the stone bench, she as well. "Like now, for me to hear?"

Maglor thought for a moment. Could he? He hadn't even meant to get into conversation with the locals, and had not this child come up to talk with him, he would still have been standing silent and alone. He shook his head.

"But you know how to play it, don't you?" The girl looked at him intently, stuffing some more fish into her mouth. Seeing Maglor stare at the fish, she misinterpreted the look and offered him the paper bag. "Do you want some? It's okay, my mother bought it for me." Maglor shook his head again; he wasn't really hungry. "Can you talk?" the girl asked. "Or are you like my grand-uncle who can't talk because they cut his tongue when he deserted the army? Do you have a tongue?" Maglor sighed. The girl was talkative. Too young to understand when she should be quiet. "You are mute, aren't you? That's why you are alone." The girl looked a bit sad at the thought.

Rather the other way around, Maglor thought. He had been alone for so long talking to people didn't come naturally any more. Singing did, occasionally. But who was there to sing for but himself and the Sea if no one was around? And he needed no voice to sing to the Sea; it would understand him either way. But as the girl swung her legs as she sat on the bench, Maglor gave up. He opened his mouth a few times, drawing air into his lungs, tightening his jaws, concentrating on forming a sounds with his lips.

"No, it's not."

The girl looked up in surprise. "You can talk after all!" she said happily.

Maglor had croaked an answer and was almost surprised at how he had sounded. "Yes," he went on, his voice now steadier. "I just have seldom need for it. I don't talk to people."

"Why? Don't you like people."

"It's not that. You wouldn't understand, but I have chosen to forsake it."

"Forsake what? Why?"

Maglor sighed again. He had known the girl wouldn't understand. "It is a long and tragic tale and I couldn't tell it to you. But after all that I had been through I chose to isolate myself."

"Since you can talk, won't you sing something? Play with that harp. And I am sure you can sing as well."

"What would you like me to sing?" the Elf asked. He had already come this far, he could as well sing to the girl since she begged him so.

"Your favourite song," the girl said. Maglor nodded, taking his harp. He tuned it quickly as only a professional would, pulled a few chords and sighed. "Come on, I won't laugh at you if you can't sing that well after all," the child laughed. "I can't sing well either."

Maglor said nothing, he merely tried out a couple of other chords. Then he began to play, and soon started singing. Although Maglor hadn't used his voice for a while, it was still as beautiful as ever. The more he sang, the wider the girl's eyes grew until her jaw dropped, and the paper bag with the fish hung comply in her hands, and the Elf soon got lost into the song as well. The dreamlike soft sounds of the harp carried his singing, his voice struck every note with no room for false tones. His voice was the sound of the darkness of the winter, the birds in spring, the sunlit meadows if summer and the autumn wind. His voice could rise up to the stars and lift then down to the earth for people to behold; his voice could sink down deep into the ocean, only to spring up like a silver fountain; his voice could forge gold.

"That was one of my own compositions," Maglor said quietly as he ended his song, leaving a breathless quiet where the melody had filled the air. He fell silent as if shy and modest and not sure of what to do next, and brushed his his nose with his sleeve, closing his eyes.

"What did it tell about?" the girl whispered, still stunned by the music. "It sounded so very beautiful."

"It's a song in Quenya," Maglor replied. "I composed it for my wife."

He looked down at his hands. His fingers shook a little as he still clutched the harp. The girl said nothing: there was nothing to say. The song had been beyond anything she had expected. But she was not the only one who had become quiet. The whole crowd that had been going in with their business on the market square had gradually fallen silent as the people one by one had hearkened to the music. At last the silence was broken: an old fisherman, still standing behind his counter two fishes half-forgotten on the scales, clapped his hands together in applause. As if awakened from a trance, one after another of the spectators joined the cheer. Nobody had previously even taken notice of the stranger with the harp, but his music had been beyond anything that had ever been heard in the village. Maglor smiled meekly - he had not been the object of such attention for a very long time, but an artist is always pleased when his work is appreciated. He put his harp aside as if to signal the ending of the performance, and cast his hood over his head.

"Who are you who sings that well?" The girl still sat beside him.

"I have cast away my past and wish to forget it," Maglor replied, leaning his slender fingers together. "What is a man without a past?"

The girl, frowned and thought of his words in silence. She was interrupted by a woman carrying her newly bought goods in her arms. On her back she had a wrapped cloth that formed a bag in which a small baby was tucked in safely. The woman greeted Maglor by lifting her hand to her heart and bowing slightly. Maglor suspected this was the young girl's mother because of the likeness they bore. His guess was confirmed soon.

"You have met my daughter, I see and I hope she hasn't been intruding or a nuisance, my apologies," the woman said, glancing at the girl who was still seated beside Maglor.

"I have not been," the girl pouted, and looked at Maglor for confirmation.

"No nuisance," Maglor assured politely, "it has been a pleasure to talk with her." In his thoughts he marvelled at how he after ages of loneliness was suddenly talking to as many as two people at the same time.

"My my, that is good to hear," the girl's mother looked relieved. "She can be quite the talker when she gets in the mood, and strangers won't scare her away."

Maglor smiled. That was certainly something he had noticed.

"Mother, this man must be some minstrel of kings," the girl piped up. "Did you hear him sing?" She gave Maglor a broad smile. "Mother, you should ask father to invite him to come for a supper. You could use that fish we bought..."

The mother looked thoughtful at the suggestion, but Maglor stood up. "No, I should go," he said. His new-found young acquaintance looked at him with a somewhat disappointed expression. "It is true," Maglor said gently. "I had never meant to stay here for long, indeed I hadn't even planned to come to this village."

"But you are here nonetheless," the girl replied. "You have already altered your plan."

"No, dear," her mother said, taking her hand. "He has business elsewhere, and we better not take up any more of his time."

"No, mother you don't understand," the girl went on. "He has no business, he-"

"Now shush you!" her mother snapped. "Don't you talk like that. We will let him go." She held onto the girl's hand a little tighter. The girl looked from Maglor to his mother and back to Maglor. Then she nodded.

"It was nice to meet you," Maglor said, bowing. He put his harp over his shoulder and turned away. As he went the villagers continued to watch him with a mixed curiosity and respect. No one would approach him though, and indeed they seemed to make way for him whereas elsewhere on the streets even a horse would hardly have made it through the congestion. Maglor was content. Back to his loneliness – he had never meant to been taken notice of. Had not the girl come to him and asked him to sing, nobody would even have noticed him.

* * *

><p>Almost already out of the village, on his way through the gates, Maglor stopped intuitively. The soft running footsteps behind him, caught up with him and as he turned around without a word, the girl stood behind him, slightly out of breath.<p>

"I just wanted," she panted, reaching out her hand, "to meet you."

"Here again?" Maglor snickered, lowering himself onto his knee to the same level as the girl. "You wouldn't have had to. I thought your mother told you not to follow"

"No, but I wanted to say goodbye," the girl blushed. "And... I... I don't even know your name, but you said you had a wife." she said shyly. "And yet you said you have no love and no past."

Maglor sighed. "You don't understand how it is possible, do you?" he said.

"No, but I saw you took happiness in singing," the girl said and looked up at Maglor. "You should sing more often, and with other people, too. Instead of being alone." She looked at Maglor's harp. "I don't understand how someone like you would want to be alone. Because you seem so talented, so kind and so... I hope you'll come back some day."

"Maybe," Maglor sighed, and rose up. "Maybe I will." He doubted it, though.

"Here," the girl reached out to him again. "It's a pretty stone I found in the Sea." On her palm lay a pebble with a smooth dark glittering surface, probably containing fool's gold, but pretty nonetheless. "It reminds me of your song, so I want you to have it."

After all the lonely years of sorrow and regret, now there stood before him a girl who offered him a small pebble. A pebble worth nothing for a merchant, and nowhere near comparable to the stone Maglor had cast into the sea himself. And yet Maglor was moved. He accepted the gift and turned it in his hand. "I will treasure it," he smiled. "You may say it reminds you of my song, but I will say that it reminds me of you."

The girl looked back at him. "Will we meet again, then?"

"I cannot promise that," Maglor replied. "But if we ever meet, I will give this stone back to you. For that will be the day I sail into the West."

With those words he turned away and walked away. The girl was left behind as she stood puzzled in the middle of the street. "Are you an Elf, then?" she cried after him. "Sir? Is that why you sang so..." She left her question hanging in the air, unable to find a word good enough to describe the music the stranger had showed her. But Maglor merely lift his hand in a farewell, his back still turned away as he left through the gates, the stone in the pocket of his tunic.

* * *

><p>As the man opened the front door of the cottage, a fresh breath of air swept into the room. The man had keen ears and thought he had heard a knock or something, but looking out, there was nothing. Then his eye caught something on the steps. He picked it up and turned it in his hand. "Seems it was just a pebble that came a-knocking, he laughed and showed it to his wife. The woman glanced at it, turning away from her grand-son she had been trying to feed porridge to. Seemingly uninterested at first, she turned back to the boy that kept struggling away from the spoon, but then something flickered in her eyes, and she spun back towards her husband.<p>

"Let me see it again with my own eyes, will you," she said frowning. As she took the stone, her eyes widened. "It is the same shape I think. No, in fact I am quite sure of it," she muttered. "It is that same pebble I found in the Sea when I was little." She looked up at her husband. "The one I gave to the stranger."

"What stranger?" the man asked confused.

She smiled, holding the glittering stone in her palm. "The Elf who has sailed to West."


	13. Celegorm and Aredhel, fluff, K

_B2MEM prompts including:  
>- First line: It is universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.<br>- smell of grass  
>- smell of pine trees<br>- Celegorm and Aredhel_

_Very fluffy. _

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><p><strong>Ambiguousness<strong>

It is universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. As his brothers, even Tyelkormo was expected to at some point start to take some interest in cultural outgoings and socialisation. The headstrong son of Fëanáro, however, would rarely take interest in conversations that didn't relate to himself, animals or hunting, in one way or another. One time when his older brother had actually had him take part in a political discussion on current situations, the debate had taken a nasty turn and everybody had agreed that Tyelkormo wouldn't have to join future discussions unless he chose so himself. This withdrawal had caused the third son to have very few wife candidates when he one day started pondering at the matter after one of his cousins had announced his own engagement.

"I have never had a relationship," he said one time when he and his friend were on a walk in the forest. Waiting for him to go on, his friend and cousin Ireth said nothing, so Tyelkormo soon broke the silence again. "Which is rather unusual for someone of my age and status."

"You are comparing yourself to Turukáno. If it bothers you, have you even tried to have a relationship?" Ireth asked curiously. "I have never seen you courting anyone, so frankly I am not all that surprised that you are still single."

Tyelkormo laughed. "I didn't say it bothers me," he explained. "And should I try my hand at courting, I doubt it would be very hard."

"You seem mighty confident about your skills, but do as you wish," Ireth replied with a smile. Tyelkormo nodded, certain of that anyone would fall for his charms should he tell them he had feelings for them. Then again, he wasn't even sure if courting was necessary. Wouldn't it be easier to just skip the troublesome ordeal and simply be together with the one you loved, he thought.

Later they were sitting on a low, thick branch of a pine tree. The day was warm and still, with little clouds in the sky and even less risk of rain.

They chatted a while if this and that, if things of little importance, for a while. At last Tyelkormo yawned and their discussion trailed off. Ireth became quiet as well, but they continued to sit on the branch, together in silence, their feet swinging in mid-air.

"You smell of pines," Tyelkormo said at last breaking the quietness. Ireth looked up, raising an eye-brow.

"What do you mean by that? We are sitting on a pine tree, so undoubtedly there would be other reasons -"

"I like it." Tyelkormo shrugged and leaned in to sniff Ireth's raven black locks. "It's a mix of murky wood and sweet resin."

"So I should take you burying your nose in my hair as a compliment. Does my hair really smell murky?" Ireth snorted.

"And resin,"Tyelkormo added fondly. Ireth, however, remained unimpressed and pushed him away.

"I am sorry, Ireth," Tyelkormo apologized, "but I like the way you smell."

"Hmpf," Ireth snorted with arms filed although still smiling. Tyelkormo could be so silly at times.

Tyelkormo say quietly glancing at his friend every now and then, until at last failing to resist that pine tree smell. This time that he leant in, Ireth leaned away from him, causing him to follow and thus lose his balance. Before he tumbled from the branch, he grabbed hold of anything that he could reach, and thus dragged Ireth down with him as they fell down from the tree into the tall, soft grass beneath.

"You smell off grass," Ireth grumbled, nose buried in Tyelko's chest.

"Well, since we are, as a matter of fact lying in the grass, so undoubtedly-" Tyelkormo laughed, echoing their earlier conversation. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"Maybe," came the teasing reply. "It smells of... cool soil and flowers."

That sounded pleasant enough. Tyelkormo closed his eyes and felt drowsy in the afternoon warmth, too lazy to get up, even had not Ireth laid by his side, face nuzzled against his chest.

"You know what," Ireth sighed at last, looking up and smiling at Tyelkormo. "I am glad you don't have a relationship. How then could you spend time with your cousins?"

Tyelkormo grinned. "Good point," he said without opening his eyes. "That is a privilege I would never give up on. Now you won't have to be jealous."

"I'm not jealous!"

"Certainly not. You just want to keep me for yourself," Tyelkormo replied and let out a yelp as he got a first into his ribs.

"You silly. I don't want to keep you for myself," Ireth said gently and apologized for hitting him by kissing him on the forehead. Tyelkormo opened his eyes and looked into Ireth's eyes.

"Too bad. You'll just have to learn to live with it."


	14. Éowyn & Galadriel, humour or satire, K

_Prompts: Characters Discovering Fanfiction; Galadriel and Celeborn; Faramir and Éowyn_

_I saved this for the last, not because it was the last I wrote (far from it), but because it sums up views on Middle-Earth fanfiction - exactly what I've been focusing in the compilation so far. ;) _

* * *

><p><strong>Discovering fanfiction!<strong>

After the dinner, she decided to ask her about it. The King and the Queen of Lórien were visiting the Prince and the Princess of Ithilien. They had finished their meal, and were going to sit down outside to admire the views on the newly planted gardens of Ithilien, when Éowyn decided it was time. She asked Galadriel whether the two of them could talk in privacy. "Because there is something I don't understand." Galadriel nodded. Maybe she had already used her telepathic skills to find out what bothered the hostess, but nite she merely told Celeborn she'd join him soon enough. Celeborn kissed her and went followed Faramir.

Éowyn looked rather uncomfortable when she explained the situation. "You are the wisest person I know, so I assumed you would be the one I could ask about this,"she said and Galadriel nodded. Naturally she would help this young Adaneth best as she could. Although, judging by Éowyn's expression this was not an easy matter.

"There have been these... I guess one could call them stories..." Éowyn began. "I don't really know who had been writing them, but they have been popping up lately. Small leaflets sold in the market, or to be found in the library... Stories about..." Éowyn's voice became ice cold. "...About me."

Galadriel sighed. She knew what the other woman meant. "Stories that are spread although they don't have a single grain of truth in them and are called entertainment?"

Éowyn gasped in relief. "I knew you would understand! I cannot ask about this of anyone else. Not Faramir, not King Elessar, not Queen Arwen. But you do know something about these stories, don't you?"

"I do, Éowyn," Galadriel said solemnly, "because such stories have been written about me, as well. For a long time. In fact, as soon as people start to recognize our names, they begin to write fictional stories about us."

"Who are they?" Éowyn whispered.

"They are our fans."

The room became quiet as Éowyn thought. "I have fans?" she asked at last, disbelieving.

"Apparently your customs in Rohan are different since you have had the luck of not experiencing this before," Galadriel said gently. Éowyn nodded. "As soon as you killed that servant of the enemy a year ago and survived against all odds," Galadriel continued gravely, "you have had fans in Gondor. Unlike the Rohirrim, Gondorians like to write. And some fans want to write stories about you."

"About me, but why also about... Why spread rumours of me and Elessar when I am perfectly happily married to Faramir?" Éowyn frowned, blushing a little.

Galadriel laughed dryly. "You should see some of the stories that have been written about me and about my people," she said. "Some are truly scandalous stories. I remember one time when my Uncle moved to Formenos after one particularly inappropriate story concerning my eldest cousin..."

* * *

><p>"Are not the ladies going to join us soon?" Faramir asked Celeborn after they had walked around the flower patches already some times.<p>

"They were going to, yes," Celeborn said. "But it takes longer than I expected. Should we go fetch them?"

"Maybe so. I was thinking that we could all take a walk together," Faramir replied, "so we should at least inform them of that we wish to leave soon."

They went back to the house. But as Faramir was about to knock on the door to the room their wives were in, he suddenly stopped, lowered his hand and pressed his ear against the door. Celeborn raised an eyebrow. "I thought I heard my name," Faramir whispered sheepishly.

It was Éowyn's voice: "...and I feared that everybody would soon think it's true, that there exist some "love triangle. You see, obviously, I couldn't ask Arwen about that, not when it concerns Elessar and I."

"I understand," Galadriel's voice replied. "Do not take it seriously. I once had a similar experience. I doubt Celeborn found out about it, although he is wise and might have been able to conceal his knowledge from me." Celeborn frowned and pressed his ear against the for as well, (not that he needed to, since he had the hearing of Eldar). The two males listened intently, until the two womens' chat stopped. For a moment they heard nothing, and the next second the door was opened.

Celeborn leaned away at once and Faramir followed, slightly less gracefully.

"You are fearing the worst now, aren't you?" Galadriel asked Faramir looking half amused. "As for you, Celeborn, I doubt fiction by fans is a new expression for you."

Celeborn relaxed visibly. "Oh, that," he said. "My dear, you know I have more important things at hand than reading that blasphemy."

Faramir frowned. "I am sorry, Éowyn, that they have been writing about you, too," he said as he walked to her and kissed her forehead. "I was hoping you could avoid them if we lived here in Ithilien."

"So you know about them, too," Éowyn asked, looking relieved. "Then you know they are lies."

"Of course dear. Some of them come near the truth, but most of them are completely false."

Éowyn smiled. Her worries were gone. But then she frowned. "Why do the people of Gondor - and Elves also, it seems - write such things? Do they take joy in coming up horrible fates for us, or do they feel good for slandering our reputation?" she said angrily. "They make too little money from dealing those booklets on the market for the writing to be their living."

"Some people who can write take it as their pastime. It entertains them to create stories," Celeborn explained. "And some who like to read are entertained by reading stories about people they know by name only." Éowyn nodded thoughtfully.

"Do not take them seriously. Few of them mean you harm, and most of then would see you as a hero to revere," Galadriel added.

"I think I understand it now," Éowyn sighed. "Just you promise," she said to Faramir, as they went back outside to finally go on their walk, "to never believe those fictions. What they tell about me is never true, unless I have confirmed it myself."

"Understood," Faramir laughed and kissed her.


End file.
